In Milan I asked my mom, Doesn’t this remind you a little bit of China?
July 8, 2024 11:17 AM Subscribe
Because I had inherited a vast legacy of silence, because silence was my country, I had to build a wall to see its borders. These two methodologies—the persistent Italian unchanging, the hyper Chinese dream of progress—are two ways of addressing the same vacancy: the void between where we came from and how we got here.
I cannot presume to know anything about Italy or the Italians. In the way of Roland Barthes, the Italy I speak of is the Italy of my mind—a place one goes to think of other places, as I’ve learned that every country one travels to will always be a site of mourning for one’s first country.
I cannot presume to know anything about Italy or the Italians. In the way of Roland Barthes, the Italy I speak of is the Italy of my mind—a place one goes to think of other places, as I’ve learned that every country one travels to will always be a site of mourning for one’s first country.
I have nothing to say about the article, but the writer is living my dream of being a writer and travelling a lot.
posted by Didnt_do_enough at 5:33 PM on July 8
posted by Didnt_do_enough at 5:33 PM on July 8
‘Everything must change for everything to remain the same.’
a man from Thessaloniki once asked me about myth. did i know the meaning of the word? i’d thought i did, but he wanted to tell me something. “mythos,” he said “means speed: a tale told quickly.” Shakespeare’s adage was never truer to me than then. i’ve never been to Greece. what did i know
i won’t speak of places i haven’t been, though i’m always happy to hear others’ stories. they’re like a book from the sky to me, xu bing’s indecipherable masterpiece hung before Tiananmen Square. he teaches there now, having fled & returned. it’s footage i can’t unsee:
how does one face a tank, barehanded, & live?
I resurrected the dead with the thinnest gossamer hints of their presence…
sfumato is how i see my grandfather now. never having known him in life, the smoky distance of Mona Lisa’s mountains still feels fairer than the stark contrasts of chiaroscuro. chiaroscuro i know, viscerally, from other mountains: high desert of Santa Fe, where sun shines nigh constantly. there, every bit of shade is a blessing. pueblo walls hold heat at bay daily & retain enough to get you through the desert night
candle smoke’s sfumato memories, in the light of Visconti’s magisterial scene, my grandfather could have been a leopard. Burt Lancaster’s leopard, that’s how i choose to remember him.
spolia, alerting us to ways history is repurposed, that’s how i remember Italy. fallen stones rising, these architectural fragments are reminders: however faulty memory may be, it’s all we have
plus ça change, plus ca la meme chose
posted by HearHere at 8:38 PM on July 8 [2 favorites]
a man from Thessaloniki once asked me about myth. did i know the meaning of the word? i’d thought i did, but he wanted to tell me something. “mythos,” he said “means speed: a tale told quickly.” Shakespeare’s adage was never truer to me than then. i’ve never been to Greece. what did i know
i won’t speak of places i haven’t been, though i’m always happy to hear others’ stories. they’re like a book from the sky to me, xu bing’s indecipherable masterpiece hung before Tiananmen Square. he teaches there now, having fled & returned. it’s footage i can’t unsee:
how does one face a tank, barehanded, & live?
I resurrected the dead with the thinnest gossamer hints of their presence…
sfumato is how i see my grandfather now. never having known him in life, the smoky distance of Mona Lisa’s mountains still feels fairer than the stark contrasts of chiaroscuro. chiaroscuro i know, viscerally, from other mountains: high desert of Santa Fe, where sun shines nigh constantly. there, every bit of shade is a blessing. pueblo walls hold heat at bay daily & retain enough to get you through the desert night
candle smoke’s sfumato memories, in the light of Visconti’s magisterial scene, my grandfather could have been a leopard. Burt Lancaster’s leopard, that’s how i choose to remember him.
spolia, alerting us to ways history is repurposed, that’s how i remember Italy. fallen stones rising, these architectural fragments are reminders: however faulty memory may be, it’s all we have
plus ça change, plus ca la meme chose
posted by HearHere at 8:38 PM on July 8 [2 favorites]
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This is a beautiful, thoughtful, heartfelt piece, thanks for posting.
posted by chavenet at 11:24 AM on July 8 [2 favorites]